


Cigarettes After Sex

by lettersinpetals



Series: HQ News [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu has issues, Background Kuroo Tetsurou/Kozume Kenma - Freeform, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Casual Sex, Celebrity Crush, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Journalist Miya Atsumu, M/M, Mild Smut, No Volleyball, Smoking, TV Reporter Sakusa Kiyoomi, at first anyway, will they never learn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals
Summary: Miya Atsumu is a foul-mouthed, jaded news producer who couldn't stand the smug, fresh-faced Sakusa Kiyoomi, who was hired to be their network's newest TV reporter. Naturally, they hook up.--“Oi, Miya, you aren’t gonna be a traitor and hook up with a TV reporter of all people, are you?” Yaku called out from tables away.“Shut your mouth, Yakkun!” Atsumu snapped. “This is all taken out of context. I never categorically said he was hot, alright?”“Are you denying it?” Suna pressed.“Shut up! I hate it here.”
Relationships: Haiba Lev & Yaku Morisuke, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Ojiro Aran, Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sawamura Daichi & Sugawara Koushi
Series: HQ News [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947268
Comments: 64
Kudos: 872





	Cigarettes After Sex

**Author's Note:**

> FWB AU COMING THROUGH. This was just an excuse to rant about my life as a journalist. The "current events" mentioned here were loosely based on actual news events I covered and wrote about (in the country I live in, and NOT in Japan) — don't take them too seriously because I altered them. The rest? They're TRUE TO LIFE.

**Chapter 1**

Miya Atsumu ducked as he stepped into the newsroom, just in time to avoid a thick folder that sailed over his head and hit someone behind him.

“What the fuck is this shit?” their resident bulldog, Yaku Morisuke, demanded from his desk situated near the whiteboard, which still had the January calendar drawn on it. It was already April.

From behind him, Lev Haiba defended, “The data for the HIV cases the past 10 years, like you asked.”

“Why is it _printed on paper_? How am I supposed to analyze that shit, Lev?”

It was going to be a typical Tuesday then. If Yaku and Lev ever got along, he would think hell hath frozen over.

“Good morning,” he sang as he made his way over to his desk, deciding to ignore them completely.

Good old Aran Ojiro, his friend since middle school and now his fellow producer, paused in his typing and waved at him.

“Yo, Tsumu, get a load of our top story today,” Suna Rintarou said. He was lounging on his computer chair, which he wheeled close to the large monitor that displayed their live views and trends.

Atsumu skipped his desk in favor of peering at the monitor. 7,800 live users on their website — impressive for a Tuesday morning.

“Oikawa Tooru breaks silence after breakup with Ushijima Wakatoshi, denies cheating allegations,” he recited. “Still? That was our top story yesterday, too.”

“You know people live on drama like this,” Suna shrugged, and wheeled himself back to his desk. “Plus, SMT reshared the article on Facebook.”

Atsumu walked over to his own corner table, and dumped his messenger bag on the floor carelessly. He flopped down on his seat and jabbed at his CPU, kickstarting the ancient machine. He ran his eyes across the many television screens that decorated the walls of the office, automatically checking if there was anything worth writing about as his first story.

Aran asked, “Has Ushijima said anything yet?”

“Not yet,” Suna said.

“What we need is for Iwaizumi Hajime to speak up,” Atsumu said, tapping impatiently on his desk. Iwaizumi was the guy rumored to have been the third party. “Once he does, our hits will be off the charts.”

Lev made his way over to them. “Hey, did you guys hear about the company’s new TV reporter?”

“No? Should we care?” Atsumu asked. The online news department did not really interact with the TV news department, unless they were pressed to do so. They might be under the same network, but their operations were so different they might as well be two separate companies.

There might also be a petty rivalry between online reporters and TV reporters. But none of them would ever admit to it.

“I heard he studied broadcast journalism in Tokyo, then jetted off to Australia for post-grad. And now he’s here!”

Atsumu wrinkled his nose. “And they hired him as a TV reporter? Just like that? Dude’s clueless on what it’s like on the field if all he’s been doing the past few years is study.”

“True,” Suna said. “Knowing the TV desk, though, they’d probably give him the ugliest shifts and assignments first, before allowing him the fun stuff. Baptism by fire.”

“Bet they’d assign him the police beat for the first few weeks at least. Graveyard shift,” Aran said.

“What’s his name?” Atsumu asked.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Lev answered.

Atsumu shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Might be some stuck-up, idealistic fresh grad who thinks he can change the world with his sheer passion and talent.”

Suna snorted. “He’ll be cured of that once he sees the dead bodies with his own eyes. I hope he has a stomach of steel.”

**Chapter 2**

Atsumu leaned against the wall in the cramped hallway, typing up a template on his phone. He was sent to the Tokyo District Court to cover this one Councilor who was slapped with a libel case. The dude was currently posting bail, and he was taking _forever_. Atsumu and a handful of other press had been standing around for two whole hours now.

From the edges of his vision, he registered a pair of expensive-looking Oxford shoes pass by, but ultimately ignored it; he wanted to break this story the moment the Councilor stepped out and confirmed he’d posted bail.

After a few minutes, during which Atsumu reviewed his copy, he was made aware of a presence beside him. There was the sound of a man clearing his throat.

When he looked up, his thought process stuttered for a quick second as he registered a handsome face, intriguing dark eyes, and curly hair he’d very much like to run fingers through. A quick flick through his body confirmed to Atsumu — yup, he was tall and toned and just his type.

Then the man said, “You’re Miya Atsumu, aren’t you?”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t exactly famous. The only people who would know him are the employees from his network — HQ News, where he’d worked at for five years now — and reporters from other media outfits whom he’d often run into during events. It was a small industry. Everyone knew everyone.

But Atsumu didn’t know this man.

“Who’re you?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” He said that as if Atsumu should know who _he_ was.

And then it hit him why the name sounded familiar.

“ _Oh_ , right, the rookie reporter.” It’s been a month since he heard from Lev he’d come on board, and he’d never met him, or seen him. Atsumu hasn't been paying close attention to their newscasts lately, busy with his own digital projects, so that was probably why. “Ya need something?”

Sakusa was scowling at him. “I’m not a rookie.”

Atsumu blinked at him slowly. “Did you not come here straight from post-grad?”

“I did, but —”

“Is this not your first official job?”

“Yes, but —”

“Then you’re a rookie. Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Atsumu challenged.

Sakusa was glaring at him now. “I had another year of practical training in Australia after my Master’s. I’m not a kid.”

Atsumu was liking this guy less and less. He tossed any and all attraction he initially felt out the window. Condescendingly, he said, “And I’m sure it was a magical, enlightening experience. But guess what — neither age nor any fancy degree is gonna help you out here in the real world.”

After staring at him for a moment, Sakusa said, “You are as obnoxious as they say.”

“Oh, do I have a rep?”

“They told me you had a face of an angel, but god help me if I ever heard you speak.”

Atsumu blinked at him. Then he laughed, unable to help it. “Let me guess. Did one Kuroo Tetsurou tell you that?”

Sakusa shrugged. “And Suga-san.” He meant Sugawara Koshi, the managing editor of the TV news desk. Their newsroom was located on the ground floor of the HQ News building, beside the studios. The online department’s office was a floor right above theirs.

Snorting, Atsumu shook his head. “Don’t believe anything they say, they like to shit on me.” Then he smirked. “I’m an angel, period.”

Just then the court doors opened, and he pushed off the wall automatically. As he strode over to where the cameramen and reporters conglomerated around the Councilor, all thoughts of Sakusa Kiyoomi slipped from his mind. The whole commotion went by fast, as everyone shoved each other and yelled questions over each other, scrambling to keep up with the politician who was steadily trying to make his escape. Once he got confirmation and a soundbite, Atsumu and a handful of others fell back, leaving the cameramen to continue their chase.

He quickly tweeted the development, so HQ’s social media accounts can pick up the news. He actually had a respectable few thousand followers on the bird app because of this aspect of the job (although Yaku would derisively say it was because of the rare selfie or group pictures he posts when he’s on the field — based on his Instagram followers, he was inclined to agree). 

He then added the new info and quotes to his copy, before emailing his article to the editors. Job done, he gazed around to search for Sakusa. The other man had also fallen back, frowning a bit and tapping a long finger against the microphone he was clutching. His crew must still be tailing the Councilor.

 _There ain’t nothing magical about this_ , Atsumu thought. _You’re in for a rude awakening, kid._

\--

“So I met that Sakusa guy,” he announced, sitting down on Suna’s desk, avoiding the clutter of toys and figurines displayed on it.

“Who?” Suna asked distractedly. He was typing probaby 80 words per minute, and Atsumu wondered what boring ass story he was working on. Then he decided he didn’t care.

“You know, that new reporter Lev was harping about.”

“Ah, right.”

Lev abandoned whatever work he was doing on his desk and scrambled over. “How was he?”

“Kind of an airy dick, honestly.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yeah, he called me obnoxious.”

“You _are_ obnoxious,” Aran said, not looking away from his monitor.

“Apparently, he had another year of practical training in Australia after getting his Master’s.”

“Fancy,” Suna said.

“Yeah, he looked like a rich kid.”

“Why are you so interested?” Suna asked, finally pausing in his typing and looking up at Atsumu. “Thought you didn’t give a shit.”

“Well, that was before he introduced himself to me when I had that coverage in the Courts,” Atsumu said defensively.

“Is he hot?” Suna asked, amused and shrewd as always.

Atsumu paused. “That is neither here nor there.”

Aran boomed out a laugh. “Well, things just got interesting. Wait ‘til I tell Osamu.”

Atsumu scowled. He wasn’t in the mood to be teased by his twin.

“Oi, Miya, you aren’t gonna be a traitor and hook up with a TV reporter of all people, are you?” Yaku called out from tables away.

“Shut your mouth, Yakkun!” Atsumu snapped. “This is all taken out of context. I never categorically said he was hot, alright?”

“Are you denying it?” Suna pressed.

“Shut up! I hate it here.”

Everyone laughed.

**Chapter 3**

Their editor-in-chief, Sawamura Daichi, had hired a fresh young graduate from some prestigious university in Tokyo. And because Atsumu was one of the longest serving employees in the department, holding the job title of Senior News Producer (he’d been promoted the previous year), Daichi had deemed him the kid’s mentor.

The newbie, Choko, was put in the exact same shift as Atsumu (7 a.m. to 4 p.m. every Tuesday to Friday, and 12 p.m. to 9 p.m. on Saturdays), was seated on the desk beside Atsumu, and was generally told to “listen to him, learn from him, and follow him around.”

And he was driving Atsumu crazy.

The thing about fresh grads from private universities was that they were entitled. They were conditioned to believe that they were God’s gift to journalism, given a set of ideals and expectations that just didn’t mash up with what was really happening on the ground. These kids were part of the “woke Twitter” that they all laughed at in the newsroom; the same kids who looked down on “shallow” stories, such as who made the dress that the new Miss Universe wore during the evening gown portion of the pageant.

And as predicted, Choko had all these qualities that Atsumu dreaded. In the beginning, he’d stared at Atsumu with sparkling eyes, full of admiration and awe, but that slowly dimmed after a few dozen scoldings.

“Jeez, take it easy on the kid,” Suna said, bored, after Choko had hurriedly excused himself to go to the restroom after Atsumu snapped at him again.

“I’m already being kind,” Atsumu said firmly. “If he did this crap in print media, he’d be running home, instead of the restroom.”

Aran whirled his chair around to join the conversation. “You gotta admit, Suna, that thing with the pageant Q&A was a foul.”

The pageant he was referring to was the Miss Earth held the previous Saturday. Loaded down with work, scrambling to break the news first, Atsumu had told Choko to write a story on the winner’s Q&A answer. The pageant finished airing at midnight, way beyond their shift, so he understood that the kid was exhausted — but it was no excuse for literally submitting a transcript instead of an article. Irritated, Atsumu ordered him to just go home. He was left alone with the night shift editor, doing all the work, only timing out at 3 a.m.

His temper had been short since then.

As is prone to happen, something exploded in their news alerts out of nowhere that afternoon — a female volleyball player announced that she has a four-year-old son with some actor. A former _child_ actor, who just turned 20. And the volleyball player was 26.

Suna whistled. “Damn. Not everyday I get surprised like this, but damn. Why did they announce that shit?”

“Listen, listen,” Yaku said, sounding morbidly fascinated. He was on his feet beside Lev, both of them staring at a computer monitor. “If the actor just turned 20, and their son is four, that means he was 16 when he became a father. Which means he was 15 when he had sex with her — and she had to have been 21 at the time.”

Daichi strode out from his office and yelled, “This is big, people, you know what to do. Is anyone writing this already?”

“I’m almost done with it,” Atsumu called out. “Sending it to Breaking in a minute.”

“You’re the best, Atsumu,” Daichi said as he retreated back into his office, leaving his door open as usual.

Yachi Hitoka from the Digital Video Section called out, “Can someone confirm he turned 20 just yesterday? We’re rushing a video about it now.”

“Yes, 20 years old as of yesterday,” Lev said. “They must have thought it was fine now because he’s of age.”

And then, as if it wasn’t crazy enough in the newsroom yet, Sakusa Kiyoomi of all people walked in. And headed straight to Atsumu.

“Eh? Sakusa-kun?” Atsumu said, eyes flicking from the surprise guest and his monitor, fingers still flying over the keyboard. He had sent the initial article and was in the process of updating it with backgrounders. “What are you doing here?”

“Suga-san sent me, he wanted —”

“Sorry, could you hold that thought?” Atsumu’s stress levels were rising. “Just — stand over there for a minute, will you?” Why people from other floors and departments always randomly strolled in at the worst times, he will _never_ understand. He yelled, “Daichi, I already sent the initial!”

“I just posted it!” Daichi bellowed back. “SMT, are you on this?”

A girl from the social media team said, “Yes, we’re posting it on the HQ News accounts. This topic is already crazy viral, you might wanna do follow-up articles.”

“Er, Atsumu-san,” Choko suddenly said. “There are these interesting threads on Twitter, about grooming and ephebophilia. Could we do a netizens react article, maybe? We can embed these threads in the story.”

"What, so we can validate woke Twitter's opinions?” he snapped. “Get actual experts, dammit, don't be lazy, ya scrub! Get a lawyer and psychologist on the phone.” When Choko hesitated, he ordered, " _Now_."

Choko picked up his office-issued phone and scurried out. Atsumu hit the send button on his Google Mail and breathed. He slumped back on his seat.

“Jesus, Atsumu, I said to take it easy with the kid,” Suna said exasperatedly. He was lounging without a care again, unbothered by all the drama. He was a business beat reporter, so at times like these, he gets to take the backseat. Also, he tended to slack off whenever he reached his seven-article mark, and power through his last few stories right before his shift ended.

“You try mentoring him,” Atsumu said grumpily.

“I’ll pass,” Aran said. He was also just chilling — he was assigned to monitor the Parliament, so there must not be any big stories today.

Unfortunately, Atsumu tends to take the brunt of these scandalous stories, what with him currently being assigned to lifestyle and entertainment (among a gazillion other things). These stories were a big deal to the newsroom because they were major drivers for views — people talked about it, people debated about it, people created narratives around it. Miss it and they miss an entire conversation.

Sure, Atsumu sometimes felt like he was steadily losing brain cells writing crap about trends and scandals, but he figured this was better than when he was assigned the police beat when he was just starting out. That was a nightmare. And so was the justice beat, actually. The dozens and dozens of pages of court orders and decisions that he had to read daily? He’d take writing about Oikawa Tooru’s dogs over that any day.

The only reason he hasn’t lost his sanity was probably because he was also tasked to help out with general assignments when needed. He also tended to cover for news beat reporters when they couldn’t make it to some event or press conference — the online news department wasn’t that big. Not compared to the TV department, which had all the manpower, and all the budget, and all the resources. Those pricks.

“Choko is a bit, er, difficult. Has his head in the clouds, kinda dense,” Aran was saying.

“I’m just sad for the kid because he was totally crushing on _Atsumu-sama_ his first few days here,” Suna said, smirking.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I am telling Daichi not to regularize this one. I cannot deal with him,” Atsumu decided.

“He’s been here all of a month,” Aran pointed out. “This is literally his first job, cut him some slack.”

“And yet _you_ don’t want to mentor him!”

Sick of being ignored, Sakusa cleared his throat. All three of them whipped their heads around to stare at him.

Damn, he forgot just how delectable the man was.

“If you’re done making poor kids cry, Miya, I was told you had stats on depression cases and the number of psychiatrists in Japan. I went to Research first and they directed me here,” Sakusa said.

For a while, Atsumu just looked blankly at him. Depression? Psychiatrists? “The what now?”

Yaku growled out, “Those were the documents I handed to you, Miya, you dumb fuck! Lev fucking printed them out _again_ , and you said you’d make Choko encode the data in an excel file.”

Atsumu straightened, “Oh so that’s what they were. Honestly, Yakkun, I have no time to go through every document you hand me, alright.” He paused. “Choko hasn’t submitted anything, I’m going to kill him, oh my god.”

“Did you even tell him to do it?” Suna said, looking amused by the whole thing. He always enjoyed chaos. That was probably why he was still in the industry.

“I did, I know I did.” He stood up and poked around at Choko’s desk. When he didn’t find anything, he returned to his own desk and started digging through the piles of press releases and the godforsaken documents Yaku kept dumping on him.

“Is that a desk or a landfill?” Sakusa asked. He was closer now, gazing down at Atsumu’s desk with a disgusted expression on his face. “Do you ever clean?”

“I’ll have you know I’m very clean —”

“He does not,” Aran interrupted. Sakusa snorted.

Annoyed, Atsumu demanded, “Hey, where do you get off judging me, huh, scrub?”

Sakusa glared at him. “I am _not_ a scrub.”

“Whatever, scrub, do you want the hard copy or the soft copy?” Atsumu tugged out an unfamiliar envelope and peeked inside. “This is the one.”

“Both, preferably.”

Choko reentered the office, just as Atsumu handed over the envelope to Sakusa. “Choko, did you finish encoding the stats on depression and psychiatrists?”

“Oh! Er, almost?”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. “Didn’t I give that to you last week?”

Fidgeting, Choko answered, “I thought it wasn’t urgent? You never followed up or anything, and things came up and there was the pageant…”

Atsumu clenched his jaw and breathed. Suna wheeled over as if preparing to hold him off. “What part,” he began slowly. “Of being in this newsroom gave you the idea that there’s anything here that's _not urgent_?”

For a second Choko wavered. Then he seemed to steel himself and said, “Atsumu-san, you never followed up.”

Aran sucked in a breath through his teeth. Everyone in the office was watching them curiously now, including the social media team and the digital video section. Everyone here loved drama and gossip. It might as well be a requirement for producers.

Head throbbing, Atsumu snapped, “Do I have to micromanage _everything_? If I don’t follow up on your stories, will you just never submit them? What the hell is this shit I’m hearing?”

“Miya,” Sakusa interrupted from behind him. “It’s fine, I don’t need it today.”

Atsumu craned his head to look at him. “Don’t you?”

“It would be _best_ if I got it today, but —”

“Then you’ll get it today.” He faced his mentee again, calm and ice cold, now. “Won’t he, Choko? Finish encoding that crap after the grooming explainer. You are not to go home until it’s sitting in my email. Clear?”

Miserably, Choko said, “Clear.”

“Do you still need the hard copy?”

“No,” Choko said meekly. “I photocopied the documents. Sir.”

“Well, you at least did something right,” Atsumu muttered. He dug around his desk again, moving random objects out of the way. He picked up a memo pad and a pen and handed it over to Sakusa. “Write down your email, I’ll share with you the file when I get it.”

Sakusa plucked the items from Atsumu’s hand, avoiding skin contact. Something about that irritated Atsumu.

He flopped down into his chair again and massaged his temple. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

“Let’s go on a break,” Suna invited. “I’m bored.”

“Of course you are,” Atsumu muttered. “I also need coffee.”

“You’ll have to make do with 7 Eleven coffee. We’re too poor for Starbucks right now.”

“Technically, we are always too poor for Starbucks.”

Sakusa handed over his details. “Here. Thanks.”

“Sure thing, Omi-kun,” he drawled.

“Do _not_ call me that.” With that, Sakusa stalked off.

His friends waited until he was gone. Then Suna said, _"Omi-kun?"_

“What? Sakusa-san is a mouthful. And annoying him is fun.” He studied the writing on the memo pad as he lounged on his chair.

Aran said, “Damn, you like him, don’t you?”

“I do not! Get off my case.”

“Fine, then you’re attracted to him. Guys, Atsumu is attracted to a TV reporter!”

There were hoots and someone said, “Understandable, he’s hot.” But there was also an exclamation of “Traitor!”

“Well, what if _he_ was the one attracted to _me_?”

“Oh get off your high horse,” Yaku said, peeved. “You aren’t that hot.”

Atsumu smirked and held up the pad between two fingers. “Why’d he leave his number then?”

Silence. Then, predictably, chaos.

He loved this place.

**Chapter 4**

He doesn’t know why he called.

Granted, he’d felt a little something spark between them when they first locked gazes in that godforsaken courthouse, but so what?

This wasn’t something Atsumu did, not anymore. He was 27 — he’d left behind casual, unsatisfying sex when it had become too much of a hassle for him. He didn’t need it, didn’t look for it.

That didn’t mean he was looking for a serious relationship either. In fact, he was resistant to the idea. He was good with the way his life was, happy even. He worked hard and endured much hell just to get to where he was — working at one of the biggest broadcast companies in the country, in a department that’s only started to tap into the possibilities of what they could do. Sure, it was exhausting, most of the time it was a drag. It was a never ending cycle of adrenaline and caffeine and nicotine and _stress_. Not many can survive the daily pressure that permanently existed in the air, but those who can? They thrived. They belonged. They _got off on it_.

Atsumu took pride in the fact that he was surrounded by the best of the best. At the end of the day, he went home satisfied, knowing that he did his job well, as always. His many awards can speak for themselves.

What more did he need?

But he still called.

\--

Atsumu collapsed on his back with a groan, sweat dripping from his forehead. He stared at the ceiling and tried to form coherent thoughts.

He was right, Sakusa did come from money — it wasn’t so much the size of his place that gave it away, but rather the large bed and sheets with the clearly high thread count. 

Atsumu wasn’t complaining. It was a nice thing to roll on as they panted and rutted and fucked like rabbits.

Guess Sakusa wasn’t that cold after all. His nails did a lot of damage to Atsumu’s back.

Having caught his breath, Atsumu sat up and gazed at the truly delicious (and truly debauched) body lying prone beside him. It was unfortunate that Sakusa was so damn gorgeous — he was all porcelain skin and toned muscles, and one of these days Atsumu would like to run his tongue over every inch of him, but right now he was craving a smoke.

“Mind if I smoke on your balcony?”

Sakusa blinked his eyes open and stared at him uncomprehendingly, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“Is it fine to smoke on your balcony?” he asked again.

Sakusa’s nose wrinkled. “It’s allowed, but gross. Don’t leave cigarette butts or ashes there or I’ll toss you over the railing.”

“Jeez, I won’t.” He slid out of the bed and nearly stepped on a used condom, which he’d carelessly discarded on the floor. He picked it up and went to the bathroom to dispose of it and clean himself up.

Once that was done, he made his way across Sakusa’s room, picking up his boxers and jeans from the floor and hopping into them, checking that his pack was still in the back pocket. Then he picked up a newspaper lying on a desk and let himself out.

Atsumu gazed down at Tokyo as he tapped the pack of cigarettes against the railing upside down. Tapped it again against his palm to lure out the lighter he’d inserted in there. It was 8 p.m. on a Friday, four hours after Atsumu had finished his shift, and two hours after Sakusa finished his.

He inhaled deeply. Let out a smoke-filled sigh. Wondered again what he was doing here, but found that he didn’t regret it. One night stands stopped being satisfactory for him, but this? He had no complaints. He wouldn’t mind doing it again.

In fact, he planned on doing it again, if Sakusa was up for it.

He was feeling too good, so maybe he wasn’t thinking rationally. Cigarettes after sex. No better feeling.

Feeling eyes on him, he turned and saw Sakusa making his way towards him, wearing a robe. He stepped out onto the balcony and eyed the cigarette. He handed Atsumu a can of ice cold beer.

Atsumu tapped his cigarette over the table, the ashes falling harmlessly on the newspaper he’d put there. Watched Sakusa’s sharp eyes follow the movement closely. “You’re quite fussy, aren’t you?”

Sakusa frowned. “Believe me, I was a lot worse when I was younger. Germs are gross.”

“A germaphobe,” Atsumu realized. Somehow it fit. “Of course you are.”

“Stop saying that like you should have known. I hide it pretty well.”

“You’re telling me you’re well-adjusted now?”

“I’m 25 and I’m working a high-pressure job that throws me to strange places and requires me to get my hands dirty,” Sakusa said flatly, sitting down on a chair. “I have to be. I saw _blood_ and _guts_ my first week here.”

“Why journalism, then?”

“I just wanted it. So I made it happen.”

Well, he could understand that.

“Any dead bodies yet?” He cracked the tab open and took a sip of the beer.

“Thankfully, no.”

“Give it time. There aren’t many murders in Tokyo, but still. After a while you won’t even blink. You might feel queasy, though.”

Sakusa stared at him. “Are you completely soulless?”

“At this point?” He smirked, then turned serious. “Wish I was. That way it would get easier seeing uncensored photos of massacres.” The public was lucky they could be spared from such a sight. He pitied Yachi, who had to crop and edit the photos so they were black and white and blurred.

Sakusa looked away. “There won’t be gruesome crap for me for a while. I’m kind of floating.”

“That happens to rookies. They kinda just throw you wherever and assign you whatever.”

“Fine by me.”

“Ya having fun?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa admitted, to Atsumu’s admiration. It was not an easy thing to admit that you’re most alive when things go bad, or wild, or crazy. That there was no better thrill than chasing That Story, no matter how horrifying, or gruelling, or dark.

“Good,” Atsumu said firmly. “It _is_ fun. We’re fucked up. We’ll throw a party when we all meet in hell.”

They were quiet for a while as Atsumu finished his cigarette and most of his beer. Then he inserted the butt into the can, listening to the brief sizzle.

He’d been planning to leave, but the robe exposed Sakusa’s chest just right. His shift the next day wasn’t until noon, anyway.

He said, “Ready for round two?”

\--

It became a habit.

Atsumu discovered that there was no better way to work out his stress and aggression than railing Sakusa on his big, big bed. Especially because he was so damn willing.

The well-bred, well-travelled Sakusa Kiyoomi gamely went on his knees for _him_. He was Mr. Too-Good-For-You with a poker face so perfect it earned him a spot on the evening newscast, but in bed? He would beg and curse and cry in overstimulation because of Atsumu.

It was intoxicating. The shit that came out of Sakusa’s mouth blessed Atsumu with unholy delight.

What started out as a weekly hookup quickly became an almost daily thing, almost without his notice. He recognized the beginnings of an addiction and happily ignored it. What’s another one, anyway? 

Suna had taken to giving him looks of disgust, while Aran remained mostly amused — they asked that Atsumu never give them the details. They also finally told Osamu of the latest development (they held out longer than Atsumu thought they would) and his twin had called him up, cackling. “This can’t possibly end well,” Osamu said.

“Can you just go back to running your damn shop and leave me alone?” Atsumu complained.

“Nope. Speaking of, take him to the shop, will ya? I wanna see him.”

“Hell no. You don’t take your fuck buddies to meet your brother, fuck off.”

Osamu made a drawn out humming sound, ticking Atsumu off. “How long has this been going on again?”

He mentally computed. They first hooked up in early June, and it was mid-September now. “Almost four months?”

“Damn. I’m surprised you’ve kept him around that long.”

“Yeah, well. He’s good in bed.” He hadn’t been, in the beginning. It didn’t seem like Sakusa had much experience, his movements clumsy, like his body was just helplessly reacting to whatever Atsumu was doing to it.

Was it fucked up that he liked that? He had a hell of a good time showing him all his tricks. Now, though, they moved together in a dance so familiar, comforting even, that Atsumu had started dreaming of it.

“Hey, Sumu,” his twin suddenly said.

“What?”

“Don’t hurt the guy, will you? Suna said he looked pretty nice.”

“Nice?” Atsumu repeated disbelievingly. “Believe me when I say he is nothing of the sort. The other day, he woke up at 3 a.m. and literally kicked me off the bed. Falling flat on the floor was not how I ever wanted to wake up, alright? He’s a goddamn nutcase.”

“Ah. Well it sounds like you two deserve each other then. Let me know when new things happen. I’m going back to work.”

“Whatever. Bye.”

\--

He made the miserable climb up the stairs to his apartment, feeling the bone-deep kind of exhaustion that came with a whole-day shoot. It was only 5 p.m. on a Saturday but he’d changed his shift to accommodate his 6 a.m. call time this morning.

It had been a particularly stressful day. He was working on a long-term project, an in-depth special report about farmers. He’d been visiting the same group every three weeks, documenting how they were affected by the changing seasons. The amount of walking he had to do was no joke — and because online reporters are expected to be well-versed in multimedia, he was lugging around a camera and tripod, too. He’d spent the whole day on a farm, taking photos and videos, conducting interviews, and wading through mud.

He was caked with dried mud and dried sweat and a whole lot of regret. All he wanted now was a shower and his bed. Well, maybe he also wanted to fuck around with Sakusa, but he didn’t think he’d have the energy to even stand later, much less head over to his place and start something — the man was insatiable.

But when he entered his apartment and opened the door to his room, there was Sakusa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, seemingly trying to organize Atsumu’s shelves.

He looked up just as Atsumu stopped in his tracks. He was clutching a couple of old magazine issues. “Hello. How was your shoot?”

Atsumu staggered his way to him and lowered himself to his knees beside him, kind of wondering why he was here, but mostly relieved that he was. His thighs screamed in protest, aching from the workout it received throughout the day. “I’m dying, I think. I’m too old for this.”

“You’re being overdramatic.” Sakusa leaned in and Atsumu shied away.

“I’m filthy and gross.”

Sakusa grabbed his face and kissed him on the mouth. “Go shower, then.”

He dragged himself up with great difficulty, and followed the order.

He felt much better after a long hot bath. He slipped into pajamas, exited the bathroom, and collapsed into his bed. He blinked up at the ceiling in confusion. “Did you change the sheets?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” They didn’t feel like any that he owned. He decided not to question it.

“Your place is a mess. I’ve decided I could no longer stand it.”

“You’re barely even here.”

“And on the days I am, I am utterly disgusted.”

Atsumu sighed and left him to it.

He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he woke up to wet hair pressing against his chin and a cold nose pressing against his neck. A freshly-showered Sakusa wrapped his limbs around him, making himself comfortable as he snuggled Atsumu like he was his own favorite teddy bear.

Atsumu curled his arms around him and squeezed, feeling the last of the stress slowly leave his body. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Sakusa lifted his head and kissed Atsumu in greeting.

Kissing was a relatively new thing they’d introduced in their relationship. Atsumu had avoided it at first, and Sakusa didn’t look like he wanted it, so they never bothered. But one day, Sakusa just started demanding it, and why not? Atsumu found he didn’t mind indulging him. Atsumu never kissed his casual partners but those only ever lasted for a single night, or a month at most. People kissed their fuck buddies, right?

“What are you doing here?” Atsumu finally asked, when Sakusa settled his head on his chest.

“Figured you’d be too tired to come over to mine.”

“I don’t think I can fuck right now.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Hmm?” He thought about it. He’d only just had a protein bar this morning. “Oh. No.”

“Good, Osamu is sending over some food.”

“He is?”

Sakusa nodded against his chest. “You shouldn’t skip meals. You’ll lose your abs.”

Atsumu gave a throaty laugh. “I only forget when I’m doing legwork.” He actually _was_ losing his abs, had been the past couple years. He was fit, thanks to years of playing volleyball when he was younger — he had gotten taller and broader since then, and he still tried his best to keep in shape, but it’s hard when days are incredibly fast-paced. He wondered how Sakusa would react to his old shirtless pictures.

“And when you’re busy.”

“Mmm.”

“You should take care of yourself.”

Atsumu patted his head in answer. _Yeah, whatever you say._

When the doorbell sounded, Sakusa got up to handle it. He returned with bags of food, and Atsumu was suddenly starving. They settled on the floor so as not to stain the new sheets and tucked in.

Later, after they ate and got ready for bed (he’d brushed his teeth eyeing the extra toothbrush near his sink and wondered how long it had been sitting there), Sakusa somehow still wrangled what he wanted from Atsumu — he’d straddled his lap and told Atsumu he’ll do all the work. And he did. And Atsumu was helpless to resist. He wondered what kind of monster he’d unleashed and wondered why he liked it so much.

When they were cleaned up, Atsumu lay on his back and breathed, thinking this day wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it was a good one. He was productive and he loved field work, he did. It was just tiring.

Sakusa climbed the bed and shuffled closer. Then he inserted a cigarette between Atsumu’s lips.

Keeping his eyes closed, Atsumu pressed his lips together, sucking automatically when he heard Sakusa flick the lighter on. Atsumu inhaled, held the breath in. By the time he plucked out the cigarette and exhaled, his nerves were tingling pleasantly, his body greeting the nicotine like an old friend.

He finally opened his eyes and looked at Sakusa. “Damn. That’s good. Thought you hated cigarettes, though.”

Sakusa shrugged and dropped the pack over the side of the bed. Atsumu raised an eyebrow. All of this was very unlike him. “You said there was no better feeling than cigarettes after sex. Besides, it’s not my room.”

“Come here and kiss me.”

He did, and he didn’t even wrinkle his nose at the taste of menthol and smoke. Then he curled up in the crook of Atsumu’s arm.

Satisfied, Atsumu said, “ _Now_ this is the best feeling.”

\--

The next day, though, he couldn’t stop staring at the extra toothbrush on the sink as he went through his morning routine. It sat there so innocently, so unassuming. Must be why he never noticed. But it bugged him — how long has it been there?

And how long have those travel-sized skincare bottles been stashed there? His own routine was basic, but Sakusa puts layers and layers of product on his face every night, and he wouldn’t even let Atsumu kiss him on the cheek once he was done.

Exactly how long has it been since Sakusa Kiyoomi seamlessly inserted himself into his life?

**Chapter 5**

Atsumu started feeling extremely _antsy_.

He was irritable, prone to snapping. He was balancing big projects on top of his daily news articles, Choko kept stressing him out, and Sakusa _won’t stop calling._

He never asked for a damn clingy _boyfriend_. When he’d started this whole thing, it was the intention of it being purely casual.

That obviously got away from him. _I was careless_ , he thought, as violently typed out his fifth article. He was only four hours into his shift — he was on a roll.

Come afternoon, he’d run out of stories. Come afternoon, Sakusa had resorted to sending him passive-aggressive texts. Atsumu rolled his eyes and refused to open them. He hadn’t been opening them in days. What is with that dude? What did he think they were? Who did he think he was, acting like he was entitled to Atsumu’s time? Sakusa’s suddenly large presence in Atsumu’s life _grated_ on him.

He told Choko to write an article on Oikawa Tooru’s new shirtless photo on Instagram, having lost options. Their live viewers were at the 3,000 mark, and that was bad.

But the kid just had to resist, saying, _‘but this isn’t news.’_

And Atsumu was just so sick of his idiotic comments. “Newsflash: celebrity news is still news. You think this shit is beneath you? Tell me why even Daichi writes it every once in a while when there are no reporters around to do it for him, huh? Why don’t you go check what our top story is today — it’s about Britney fucking Spears. You know why? Because it’s still part of the conversation, you dumb fuck. No matter how people claim to hate it, they click on those stories and they fucking share them, along with their nasty little opinions.”

Suna sighed. He turned in his chair and looked at Choko. “I’m sick of this. Atsumu is right. If you can’t handle this one mindless story, get the fuck out of here and let someone else take your job. I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re a scrub, scrub.”

“It’s not that I can’t do it —!” Choko protested. “It’s just, this isn’t what I imagined journalism would be when I was studying it.”

Aran finally interjected, probably alarmed by the way Suna snapped. As much as Suna could snap, anyway. He wheeled himself closer and firmly said, “You don’t get the privilege to choose what parts of the job you get to do. You do the menial work, and the ugly work, and the hard work, and the commendable work. Are you telling me you look down on Atsumu-kun for writing showbiz news? Because I’ll have you know he’s a five-time award winning journalist, as horrible as it is to admit it. And you know what? He never even took up journalism, or any communications course at all.”

Choko turned wide eyes at him. “What?”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow at him. “I took up Finance.”

“Finance?” Lev exclaimed, exposing himself for the nosy person he was.

“Who do you think handles the bookkeeping in Onigiri Miya? It sure as hell ain’t Samu, even though it’s his shop.”

Yaku demanded, “Wait, what? You’re actually useful?” Everyone in this damn newsroom was shitty.

“But how did you end up here?” Choko wondered.

“I took a chance and applied, because it was my dream to work here. All I had to show for myself was my org work and some essays from my classes. I have no idea why Daichi hired me, but he did. And everything I know now, I learned on the field, not in a classroom. But I only learned because I was hungry to learn,” he gave Choko a pointed look. “I happily accepted every assignment, because I knew I was behind most people here. I worked myself to the bone, worked tirelessly to earn my spot. There was no such thing as small tasks. Hell, I felt lucky to be given each one. So get out of here with your shitty entitled attitude. I have no patience for that.”

“I am so sorry,” Choko said, looking mortified. “I didn’t mean to offend or look down on anyone...I was just anticipating what netizens would say.”

“You’re gonna have to develop thicker skin if you want to survive in this industry,” Atsumu said flatly. “Because we take the abuse from every goddamn side in every goddamn war, every goddamn day. The government? They hate us. The public? They also hate us. The internet? Surprise! They also hate us! But you know what? They also need us. So they can threaten to _‘cancel’_ us but hell, even dictators couldn’t shut the media down. What can 15-year-olds on Twitter do?”

“Type furiously on their phones and whine about the injustices of the world from their bedrooms,” Yaku called out. “And take it out on us, the people who are actually trying to make a difference, albeit indirectly.”

“Woke Twitter is our enemy,” Lev said darkly. “We make mistakes, sure, but let’s see them try to break a story from their phones in 8 minutes or less. We already beat ourselves enough over the errors.” Lev in particular had committed so many mistakes that Daichi had stopped trying to slap him with memos. At the rate he was going, he’d be fired, and no one actually wants that. At least Yaku was there to whip him up to shape.

“I’m sorry,” Choko said again.

“Write the Oikawa story,” Atsumu advised.

“Yes, sir.”

\--

He turned 28 on a Monday. It was his day off so he just spent it holed up in his apartment, replying to birthday greetings and calling his twin to greet him, too. Sakusa didn’t bother to greet him. Why would he? Atsumu hadn’t spoken to him for two weeks now, and he’d stopped trying.

Atsumu hated himself for being disappointed and guilty. He hated himself even more because he wanted to let himself into Sakusa’s apartment and ask for a birthday blowjob. This was why he avoided feelings — they fucked up his brain.

The next morning, he stepped into the newsroom only to be greeted by a loud pop, a blast of air, and confetti exploding right in his face.

Amid the howls of laughter and cheers, Atsumu ran down a hand over his face trying to sweep off the confetti, and threatened, “Lev, I swear to fucking god —”

“It wasn’t me!” Lev protested. “Why do people always blame me!”

He blinked at the crowd, at the colleagues who have turned into family, and finally registered that _Sakusa_ was there, for some reason, looking discomfited as he clutched the confetti popper. But the moment they locked gazes, something eased between them. Sakusa smirked at him.

“You — you little —”

“Suna made me,” Sakusa said, shrugging. 

Atsumu turned his head and glared at Suna, who looked too happy to be filming the chaos.

“Cake! Cake!” The voice was familiar and Atsumu spun around to see not only Hinata Shouyou, but Bokuto Koutarou, too. 

Moved, Atsumu choked out, “You guys —”

Hinata and Bokuto ran at him and tackled him into a messy group hug. The two had been some of his first friends in HQ News. They actually started out as online reporters, too, but Hinata went on to become their resident weatherman, while Bokuto became the host of their sports channel.

“Now, now,” another familiar voice drawled. “No starting the party without me.”

“Shut up, Kuro, it’s not your birthday.”

Atsumu detangled himself from the hug to grin over at Kuroo and his fellow radio host (and husband) Kozume Kenma. He greeted Kuroo with a hug, and Kenma with a pat on the head. “Hi, Pudding-kun!”

The shorter man gave him a look that promised certain death. Then he went on to hug Hinata, who was bouncing around in excitement.

“Hey, how come Shouyou gets a hug,” Atsumu complained.

“You should feel lucky I’m even here, Bratsumu,” Kenma said flatly.

Kuroo and Yaku laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard and Atsumu pressed a hand over his chest. “Why am I being attacked on _my birthday party_?”

“Not just _your_ birthday party,” his twin’s voice from behind him said.

He whirled around, suddenly feeling wildly happy, because now everyone was _here_. “Samu, you jerk!” He tackled him in a violent hug. He rarely sees him these days.

Someone hissed, “Oh my god, there’s two of them.” It sounded like Choko, who against all odds, was still there.

Osamu laughed and thumped him on the back, hard. “Can’t believe we’re 28.”

“Yeah and I’m still more good-looking than you.”

Osamu shoved him away, scowling. “You are the single most despicable human I have ever shared a womb with —”

“Alright,” Daichi said, clapping his hands. Beside him stood Suga, who smiled at him. “This is sweet and all, but everyone is hungry so let’s start.”

He and Osamu drew closer to their friends and Aran and Sakusa approached carrying a cake each. Everyone started singing but instead of “Happy birthday to you,” they sang, “Happy birthday, Miyas.”

Sakusa didn’t sing. He simply watched Atsumu, who watched him back.

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

Sakusa shrugged, but the tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

At that moment, all Atsumu could think was that he was so unexpectedly happy for the first time in a while. That Sakusa was _here_ after over two weeks of not seeing him, and that he _missed_ him, and that the glow of the candles made him look so damn gorgeous. Feeling overcome, he leaned over, grabbed Sakusa’s chin and kissed him on the lips. To his gratification, Sakusa still came willingly.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling away.

“Happy birthday,” Sakusa smiled, and Atsumu was warmed all the way through.

“Um,” Yaku interrupted loudly. “What the _fuck_?”

Atsumu turned to see everyone staring at them. Osamu’s eyes were wide.

Suga turned to Dachi and said, “I win. Hand over the cash.”

“Daichi?” Atsumu demanded.

“You were supposed to blow the candles, you idiot Tsumu,” Suna said.

“Ah, right.” He blew the candles. “Can we eat now?”

There were cheers and the party started.

\--

That night, he followed Sakusa home and fucked him slowly and thoroughly. He told himself he shouldn’t, that it was a bad idea — but he did it anyway. He didn’t even smoke after. The pleasure was overwhelming enough.

The next morning, he didn’t bother to wake Sakusa when he was about to leave. He was just gone.

\--

Atsumu downed the shot and slammed the glass down on the table. “Fuck this.”

“You told me it was casual. That was not fucking casual,” Osamu accused.

They were in an izakaya, allegedly to celebrate their birthday, but Atsumu knew his friends just wanted to confront him.

“That kiss was hella not casual,” Suna agreed. He exhaled smoke and tapped his cigarette against an ashtray. “Looked domestic to me.”

Atsumu rubbed his hands across his face. “He conditioned me. That’s what he fucking did. This is his fault. He’s the devil, I’m telling ya.”

“A relationship involves two people,” Aran pointed out.

“There is no relationship,” Atsumu stressed. “There never has been. I just asked one day if he wanted to fuck. I came over and we did. Repeatedly. The end.”

“Did he know that?” Aran demanded. “Was it clear to him?”

“I mean, it should? It wasn’t like I was acting like his boyfriend or anything! I fucked him, I left. Sometimes immediately, because I wanted to smoke. We didn’t even talk at first! It was just to destress!”

Osamu was looking at him in disgust. “Didn’t you tell me he woke you up by kicking you off the bed once? Implying you slept there?”

“Er,” Atsumu scratched his jaw. “I mean, we started doing it often enough that there wasn’t a point in leaving…”

“How often?”

“Almost daily...kind of.”

“For the past four months?” Suna rested his forehead on his head. “Oh god. Atsumu. You idiot.”

Aran said, “I don’t care what you say. You were in a relationship. Maybe it started out casual but that’s not how it stayed. And you owe him an explanation for fucking off without a word for two weeks. And then fucking him again, oh my god. Poor Sakusa. I actually liked him, even though he’s standoffish.”

“Has he tried to talk to you again?” Suna demanded.

“No,” Atsumu muttered. He was disappointed about that, but he shouldn’t be. What was happening to him?

“You should talk to him,” Aran insisted.

“Why would I do that? I am trying to _disentangle_ us here.”

“But why would you do that? You were just fine together, weren’t you? And you love him, and he looked like he loves you too, why not just —” Aran clapped his hands together. “You know?”

Atsumu stared at him, a heavy feeling in his chest building. “I do not _love_ him.”

Osamu laughed derisively. “How could you still be in denial?”

Atsumu closed his eyes briefly. “I _cannot_ love him.”

“Why not?”

“I have no room in my life for him!” Atsumu finally snapped, glaring at his twin.

“Then _make_ room!” Osamu snapped back. “He made room for you!”

Suna was studying him. “What are you so afraid of?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “Nothing! I just don’t — do this.”

“Atsumu,” Osamu said seriously. “Can you look me in the eye and say it was just sex?”

He gazed at Osamu and thought it should be an easy enough answer. But then he thought of Sakusa muffling laughter against his lips, curling around him almost possessively, demanding kisses and sex and time, but giving all of it back tenfold. He thought of returning to his apartment to find Sakusa waiting there, remembered how he got to lie down on fresh sheets and have good dinner and even better company, remembered how he slept that night thinking _‘it’s good to be home.'_

He looked away. “Fuck.”

Well, what do you know. It looked like he’d already made room for him after all.

**Chapter 6**

Atsumu had half-mindedly watched an episode about invasive species in their nature show once, because it was playing on the television near his head in the newsroom. He didn’t realize it had stuck in his brain, but now he thought Sakusa was exactly that — invasive, exotic, aggressive, and wholly a nuisance. It did not belong. It was never meant to be there. And yet it made its way there and now it has spread until it altered its environment.

The most worrisome thing was all the things Atsumu would be willing to do for Sakusa. The lengths he would go for him. Hell, the man had Atsumu go from dropping by for a fuck once a week to obsessively spending night after night with him. Atsumu didn’t even get upset that time Sakusa literally kicked him off the bed. He’d thought it was _bewitching_. Anyone else and he would have gone for their throats, but instead, he had picked himself up and kissed him and murmured, _‘What’s gotten into you now?’_

Apparently, Sakusa had a nightmare and he panicked. He didn’t say sorry, didn’t even show an ounce of remorse, but Atsumu had _melted_. He’d held him and smoothed down his wild hair and when neither of them could sleep again, he fucked him.

Yeah, his brain stopped making rational decisions the moment he rang Sakusa’s doorbell that fateful night. Or maybe it was when Sakusa handed him the notepad with his contact details, and Atsumu saw that under his work email was a hastily scribbled phone number. The ink stains on the paper told Atsumu that he’d hesitated writing it down, but he did it anyway.

He thought of the way he told Osamu that he doesn’t take fuck buddies to meet his family, but a week later took Sakusa to Onigiri Miya anyway. He’d thought it was cute that he refused to eat onigiri, and Osamu had to make him a special chazuke. The way Sakusa had effortlessly exasperated his twin made Atsumu laugh in delight.

Shit. He was the biggest fool — he’d fallen in love. And he’d spotted the warning signs too late.

Sakusa had already altered him.

What was he so afraid of? This exactly. Being consumed. Losing himself, and all that he’d built with his bare hands. He’d never been enough for the life he ambitiously dreamed about — he had no natural talent, he had no fancy degree. He was just Atsumu, and he’d always been a tiny bit afraid that one day, someone would see the truth: that he really wasn’t all that. But whatever it is that he was made of? That was all he had. Without that, his rickety castle would crumble.

He didn’t know how to let Sakusa in without it collapsing. Love would require him to open the doors wide open and let the sun light up all his dark corners. He couldn’t bear the thought. He couldn’t handle it.

So he didn’t.

\--

There was a storm brewing. The state weather bureau had spotted a tropical depression a few days prior and the newsroom had been monitoring it — it was slowly turning into a typhoon and it was making its way to mainland Japan. It hasn’t made landfall at all yet, but it was expected to pass through the Greater Tokyo Area tomorrow.

For now it was still rather sunny, though. The temperature was slowly dropping, as October came to a close, but the weather was peaceful.

They should have known it was the calm before the storm.

He’d been sent to cover a forum in Chiba, because a journalist’s work never ends, not even if there was an impending Armageddon. Since it was quite a distance away, the office allowed him a van service, and he spent the hour-long ride convincing himself that he loved his job. He did. He just _loathed_ forums. They went on for hours, the whole day even, as experts and stakeholders gave lectures using shitty presentations and an overload of data that no one in the room understood. It was _boring_. But he had to do it.

When he got there, Sakusa was already seated on a table, two crew members standing behind him. Atsumu’s stomach dropped.

It happened rather often, online reporters and TV reporters being assigned to the same event. Sure, they were from the same network, but they had different outputs. This was also why there was often a rivalry between them — they were after the same story. TV reporters got a wider reach due to the nature of their medium, but online reporters almost always got to break the news first. They were trained to write fast, and from their phones — all they need is to send an email and an editor in the office can immediately put it up.

But TV reporters still had to timecode the interviews, and then write a script, and then wait for revisions from their news desk. Once approved, they have to record a voiceover. And then there was still the matter of Post-Production editing the actual videos taken by the cameramen. And _then_ they wait for the next newscast to air the report — unless it was live, and they had to do a flash report on the spot. But one does not simply hold a live report. There was specific equipment for that — a large truck was involved.

There was a large truck with the HQ News logo parked outside the hotel where the forum was held. He’d wondered when he saw it, because the forum was nowhere important enough to warrant a live report, but dismissed it.

Seeing Sakusa here made even less sense. He didn’t know what beat was assigned to him now, didn’t even know what his schedule was now. Should he go over and pretend nothing had ever happened between them? Pretend that he hadn’t been getting withdrawal symptoms from his absence, or that he hadn’t been missing him? Or should he sit elsewhere and hope that he doesn’t get spotted? That was impossible.

The choice was taken from him when Sakusa lifted his head and saw him. Face as blank as ever, Sakusa raised an eyebrow at him and gestured to his table.

Alright. They were pretending then.

He sat down a seat away from Sakusa and nodded in greeting at the two cameramen standing around. They nodded back and proceeded to ignore them. Crew members don’t really talk, don’t really do anything but hover. They were always on standby for something big to happen, no matter what the event. But everyone could always count on them to risk life and limb to get that shot.

“What’s with the Live equipment outside?” he asked Sakusa.

The other man shrugged. “Just in case. I might do a situation report around here after the forum, see if residents are preparing for the storm, if they were evacuating, or whatever.”

“They _are_ supposed to evacuate.” This area in particular was prone to flash floods, and the typhoon could always prove to be worse than they were expecting. It wasn’t here yet, but residents really should be bracing for it already.

“It’s a long shot that I’d be tasked to go live though. It’s not a red alert yet, and I’m new. But I’m already here for the forum, so they sent the truck with me. Preparing but not expecting.”

“Right.” The TV news desk always avoided assigning live reports to rookies. It was too high pressure, they couldn’t be trusted to pull it off. There was no script, no redos of voiceover. Whatever they uttered there will be immortalized forever. There have been many incidents of reporters totally flubbing their live reports — even reporters who have been doing it for years. It always made every single employee in the damn network cringe, from the drivers to the cameramen to the higher ups.

The forum went on until the late afternoon. As Atumu anticipated, it was boring. Still he wrote notes in his notebook and recorded the lectures on his phone, noting down the timestamp of important quotes that could be angles for his stories.

And the entire time he was hyper aware of Sakusa. It was torture.

When the forum ended, Atsumu jumped up, ready to get out of there. “Thank god that’s over.”

“I thought it was interesting,” Sakusa said.

“Of course you did.”

They silently made their way out of the conference room, and started heading out to the exit. And then they both got an alert.

When they read it, they exchanged quick glances, suddenly pale.

Atsumu started running to the glass doors. Sure enough, the rain was pouring down, and trees were swaying wildly.

The typhoon was here, hours too early, and it was undergoing extremely rapid intensification.

His phone rang.

“Daichi, what do you need?”

“Photos and videos of the situation from where you are. Just post them on Twitter, we’ll pick up from there. If you can’t file a story, text me the details.”

“I can file a story. Has it made landfall yet?”

“Yes, in Shizuoka, but it's on its way to Greater Tokyo. Stay where you are. Monitor the developments there and send reports. Keep updating Twitter, SMT will keep monitoring your page.”

“Copy. Where are the others?”

“Everyone else has reported for work here in the office, even those off duty. All hands on deck. We’ll be picking up info from the TV reporters deployed in each ward, and other sources. And from you.”

“Okay, good,” he sighed. He was selfishly relieved that none of his friends were out in the field. Online reporters could easily churn out stories from anywhere, so they didn’t need to be risking their safety, especially because they didn’t even have hazard pay. It was during these times that they relied heavily on TV reporters, who were required by the nature of their job to really be out there.

“Take care of yourself, Atsumu.” Daichi hung up.

Atsumu glanced at Sakusa who was also on his phone, talking rapidly, looking vaguely distressed. When he hung up, he looked at Atsumu and said, “They’re making me do a live report.”

Steeling himself, Atsumu said, “Then I guess we need to find a base. Right now.”

The forum they attended had been held at a hotel in Narita, probably to accommodate foreign guest speakers, but they wouldn’t get a good vantage point from there. They agreed to look for a building they could climb that had either a rooftop or a balcony.

“I know a place,” one of the cameramen said. “We’ve set up there before. It’s an old, empty building that’s yet to be renovated. It has a view.”

“Lead the way,” Atsumu said, then strode over to his van. When he was inside, he told the driver, “We’re stuck here. The storm is coming. Follow that truck.”

He took videos and photos of the streets as they passed through. His thumbs flew over his phone screen, typing down a story at unprecedented speed. It has been a while since he had to cover an emergency. But years of training ensured that he knew what to do.

By the time the car stopped, he’d sent the story and posted the photos and videos. “Let’s go,” he told the driver. “You’re coming with me.” Grabbing his messenger bag, he left the car and ran for cover. The rain smacked his face and woke him up.

Sakusa was presenting his media pass to the lone security guard outside. Atsumu followed suit. “HQ News,” he said. The guiard nodded, wide-eyed. Atsumu added, “Sir, I advise that you evacuate. Your life might be at risk.”

Then he ran up the stairs after Sakusa.

They entered a wide empty room that led out to a balcony. Atsumu headed straight there and checked the view. From their vantage point they could see trees swaying, the streets flooding, people running for cover. Perfect. Atsumu documented that too.

Sakusa’s crew came thundering in, lugging large cameras and tripods and lights and the monitor that had a split screen — one to allow them to see the feedback of Sakusa’s live report, and one to show HQ’s ongoing newscast. They started setting up.

“...Atsumu is here,” he heard Sakusa say. He turned to meet Sakusa’s gaze, and the other man handed him his phone. “It’s Suga.”

He took the call. “Suga, what do you need?”

“We didn't send a senior producer with him to guide him,” Suga fretted. “We didn't think there was a need to! The storm wasn’t supposed to arrive yet!”

“Okay, calm down. You have a senior producer right here. What do you _need_?”

“Too much,” Suga said. “Sakusa-kun has never done this before, we’ve hardly even _briefed_ him about this before. I don’t think he’s been on top of the weather news lately, he was covering other stuff. I’m not sure he could pull it off. I _need_ you to make sure he could pull it off.”

“Do we have any idea what time he’d be going live?”

“You know we couldn’t predict these things, it depends — but the evening newscast has already started, so just keep him on standby the entire time. I’ll give you the signal when he’s about to come on. You might only have a few minutes.”

He sucked in a breath. That was the struggle in live news reports. You are only given a tiny heads up before you’re suddenly on air. There was no predicting what could happen.

“I can provide the background information and historical data,” Atsumu said. “I can guide him. But other than that, he’s on his own, you know that.”

“Oh god,” Suga moaned, sounding incredibly stressed.

“Hey,” Atsumu snapped. “Have a little more faith in him. He was born for this. I’ll make sure it goes without a hitch. Just give me the signal.”

“I will. It will be soon. Thank you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu handed the phone back to Sakusa, who was staring at him intently. He ignored him, dug out his notebook and pen from his bag, crouched on the ground and started writing.

With laser focus he penned down the basic facts off the top of his head. Storm name. Wind speed. Coordinates of the eye. Where it was first spotted. First landfall.

And the fact that when Japan had a storm this big, it killed 80 people.

For now, the typhoon is not the worst it could be. But give it another six hours and it will be deadly.

When he’d written all the necessary background information, he ripped the page off the notebook, stood up, and handed it to Sakusa.

“Read this and memorize it. What you’re going to do is give a situational report. Just say what’s happening in this area, make sure to say where you are exactly. Report the floods. Look outside and look at the people still passing by — see if the water is ankle-deep, or waist-deep, or hell, neck-deep. Be as detailed as possible. Are there cars submerged? Roofs flying off? Check those too. And make sure to mention that this area has always been prone to flooding. There was a mudslide here a couple years back.”

Sakusa stared at him wide-eyed.

Atsumu tapped at the paper. “I wrote that here. All this is background info. Memorize them, _now_.” He paused and sized him up. “Can you do this? Omi, I’m asking you if you can fucking do this.”

Sakusa steeled himself. “I can do this.” 

“You were trained for this.”

“I was trained for this.”

“You can wing it.”

At that, panic seeped into Sakusa's eyes.

Atsumu gripped him by the shoulders. “You can _wing_ it. I know there’s no script, no preparation, and _no time to practice_. But this is what you wanted, right? This is what it’s all about. Here’s your chance.”

“I’m not ready,” Sakusa whispered. “I’m just a scrub.”

At that, Atsumu moved his hands to Sakusa’s face. He gazed into his eyes intently. “Look at me. No one is ready for this. _Ever_. But who else is going to do it but you? This is our job. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it, remember? And right now, that somebody is you. I _need_ you to step up. We _cannot_ afford a single mistake. We cannot afford to _falter right now_ , Omi. The public needs us to serve, so _serve_.”

Sakusa took a breath and straightened. “Yes. Of course. You’re right. I’m good.”

Atsumu’s phone rang and he answered without looking away from Sakusa.

“Is he ready? He’ll be coming on in a minute,” Suga said.

“He’s ready.” He nodded at Sakusa, who nodded back and took his place. He started plugging in the earpods that will allow him to hear their anchor, Meian Shuugo.

Atsumu positioned himself beside the camera where he had a view of the split screen. Through the tiny speakers, Meian was wrapping up a conversation with Hinata about the trajectory of the storm.

“...And now, live from Narita,” Meian said, and Atsumu held a hand up, catching Sakusa’s attention. He raised the microphone close to his mouth. “...our correspondent, Sakusa Kiyoomi will show the situation on the ground. Sakusa?”

Atsumu gave the go signal, and watched as Sakusa _transformed_ in a blink of an eye. As if a switch has been flicked. As if he’d never doubted himself for a second.

His face was impenetrable, his words coming out calm and sure and assertive. He gestured to the torrent of rains visible behind him, and didn’t allow himself to be distracted.

And then Sakusa said, “From here, we could see that the streets have already been flooded…” and he _stepped out_ onto the open balcony, literally braving the storm.

The cameraman scrambled to keep up and stepped out under the rain himself to showcase the things that Sakusa was mentioning. The rattling roofs. The trees that were nearly bending in half. The low visibility caused by the wild showers.

His jacket — it was cashmere, not even a coat — was flapping wildly because of the wind. The force of it sometimes threw him off balance and left him teetering, to Meian’s alarm, but he never stopped talking, never let go of his train of thought. He was soaked through and probably freezing, but damn it, he _winged_ it. He pulled it off.

The thing is, after five years of this job, Atsumu was jaded. Tired. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but at the same time, the cycle had rendered him numb. What used to be exciting was now a chore.

There was no glory here. For all intents and purposes, it truly was a thankless job. But like he told Sakusa, someone had to do it. And every once in a while, that someone is so _passionate_ about it that it made Atsumu sick with envy and admiration and _want_.

Gazing at Sakusa, who had jumped out to get pelted by the rain at risk to his health and even his life, Atsumu _wanted_.

Wanted the light he unexpectedly brought into his life. Wanted the spark they turned into a raging wildfire. Wanted him in his bed, in his apartment, in his life.

He had been so stupid. He never should have tried to fight it. He was already his.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it to let Sakusa destroy him so long as he got to bask in his light for just a while.

After a message from Suga, Atsumu signaled for Sakusa to start wrapping it up. When Meian said thank you, he gave the signal for a cut.

Sakusa stepped back inside, dripping wet and shivering.

Atsumu stared at him and thought he’d never looked more beautiful.

Then he grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him hard. Sakusa gasped and kissed him back.

“Don’t ever,” Atsumu began, once he pushed him back. “Let me call you a scrub ever again. _Ever_. You were a damn journalist out there. _Thank you_.”

Sakusa gazed at him with shining eyes. “No. Thank _you_. I — I didn’t know those things you wrote on the paper. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were — you were amazing.”

Then he leaned in and kissed Atsumu again, like he couldn’t help it.

Was it the adrenaline? Was it the victory? Whatever the reason, Atsumu thought this, right here, felt right. And god, did he miss him. The ache he’d been carrying the past month felt far away.

The job wasn’t done, of course. He and Sakusa stayed for hours in that empty building, on call until the last newscast ended at midnight.

Sakusa went live twice more throughout the night, reporting about the steadily worsening weather, giving updates on the situation in Narita. And Atsumu continued to send articles himself, and posting updates on Twitter. They shivered together in that rundown room, while the crew paced back and forth restlessly, sometimes braving the rain and flood outside to get shots.

And then it was over.

When they were told by Suga and Daichi that they were officially off duty, they groaned and let themselves collapse on the floor, backs against the wall. The crew started packing up, but Atsumu doubted any of them could leave any time soon. 

“Just let me die now,” Atsumu moaned. “God. I think that’s definitely my top most stressful coverage ever.”

“Ever?” Sakusa asked, impressed.

“Well. Maybe second. There was the one time I had to walk for two hours in steady rain without an umbrella. The roads were closed for some festival. And then I got stuck outdoors for an hour more. I thought I’d never feel warm again.”

“Well, _I_ don’t think I’d ever feel warm again,” Sausa grumbled.

The three other men they were with said they were going to stay near the exit of the building to monitor the floods. They will alert them when the water is low enough for them to be able to leave.

“Alright,” Atsumu told them. “Thank you.” And they were gone.

Now that the adrenaline had passed, the air was suddenly a lot thicker. Sakusa was shivering.

“Come here,” Atsumu said, lifting an arm.

Sakusa narrowed his eyes at him, but went. The contact didn’t really help because they were both soaking wet, but it comforted him.

He couldn’t help himself. He tugged Sakusa close and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling at his wet hair. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured.

Sakusa relaxed against him and shifted until he could tuck his head into Atsumu’s neck. That has always been his favorite spot. Atsumu smiled fondly and adjusted so that they were both as comfortable as they could be. He turned his face to press a kiss against a damp forehead.

Then Sakusa said quietly, “So is this how it’s always going to be? You fuck off without a word, then fuck with me again when you feel like it?”

His heart clenched. He wasn’t prepared to be confronted like this. He had no explanations, no justifications. He’d been a dick, plain and simple.

Lamely, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Right. You just accidentally ignored me. And I kept calling like a desperate idiot.”

“Omi, I —”

“You know,” Sakusa interrupted in a deceptively casual voice. He lifted his head and pulled away. He moved and sat a bit away from Atsumu. “They warned me about you. Said even if I wanted you, it was a long shot. Even if you paid attention to me, it would be fleeting. Even if you ever agreed to anything with me, it wouldn't be serious.”

Hoarsely, he asked, “Who said?”

“Suga. And all the gossip-mongers in the TV newsroom. Guess I was obvious. They weren’t even surprised, like of course the rookie would be crushing on Miya fucking Atsumu. I already knew about you even before getting hired by the network, you know. I read your special reports and saw your selfies on Twitter and Instagram. You just looked like you were having the time of your life all the time, but you won awards. I admired you. I wanted to be like you.”

“Oh.” He had no idea. Sakusa just seemed so above everything. “Omi —”

“No, let me talk. I don’t know when you’ll decide to ignore me again, so for once in your life, shut up, okay?”

His jaw clicked shut.

Sakusa rubbed his forehead. “In our circles you’re famous, you know? Do you even know how many people want you? Even reporters from other media outfits gossiped about you. Hell, they even have your pictures _saved_. I’d feel possessive even though I haven’t even met you yet. You were _my_ idol, _my_ celebrity crush. And then I saw you in the Court and I felt so nervous. Everyone kept eyeing you, but you just ignored them. But I wanted you to know who I was. And then you opened your shitty mouth, and you were a _jerk_! But you were also more than I expected, like — like you were larger than life. And I couldn’t help myself. I was stupid.”

Atsumu didn’t know what to say. Hearing it from Sakusa’s perspective made him feel like a shitstain. He didn’t deserve to even _breathe_ near him.

“I couldn’t believe it when you called,” Sakusa continued. “I thought for sure you could hear my heartbeat through the phone. I told myself I’d take whatever you were willing to give. I would have done anything for you. You squashed my celebrity crush the moment you spoke to me, but I — I fell for you anyway. Because even when you were cold to me, I saw how dedicated you were at your job, and you were _so good_ at it, and you were so loyal to your friends, I thought maybe — maybe one day you’d be able to give me the same attention and effort. And for a while back there, I thought maybe you’d stopped seeing me as just a body, but then you disappeared. So obviously, all of it was wishful thinking. I thought I was smart, but as always, you made me feel incredibly stupid and out of my depth. You have a tendency to do that, you know.”

Sakusa wiped tears from his cheek, and Atsumu thought he felt the exact moment his heart cracked.

“Omi,” he whispered. “I’m a shitty person. The shittiest person to ever live. Why did you let me treat you like that? You should hate me.”

Sakusa sniffled and shrugged. “Because sometimes you’d smile at me. And kiss me, and hug me, and sleep beside me. I thought it was worth it. Even now I can’t bring myself to regret it. So, just — whatever. Fuck off, if you want. But don’t get upset if I keep the memories. I don’t care what you do anymore, but I’d like to ask that you stop messing with me.”

Heaviness hung in the air, and Atsumu felt like there was a knife in his throat. He didn’t see any way out of this, didn’t know how to fix it.

Atsumu knew the right thing would be to let him go. To apologize, promise that he’d leave him alone, and proceed to never bother him again.

But he has always been selfish. All he knew was that once he finally returned home after this nightmarish coverage, he wanted Sakusa to be there. And he wanted him to be there when he woke up the next day, too.

So he said, “What if I don’t want to fuck off?”

Sakusa glared at him. “Well, what is it that you want, Atsumu? Because I could never tell. Do you even know?”

“I didn’t,” Atsumu admitted earnestly. “I didn’t know, not until recently. Not until I started missing you every damn second of every day. I’m so sorry, Omi-Omi. I panicked and I didn’t know what else to do but to shut you out. You were changing my life, you’d invaded every aspect of it. You’re just — you’re too much. And I’m not enough. But without you everything just feels off now.”

He tentatively reached out a hand and Sakusa glared at it like he was about to chop it off. “Omi-Omi,” he tried. “Please?”

“What do you _want_?”

“One more chance. Let me do it properly this time. I’ll court you, and take you out on dates, and when I finally deserve you, I hope you’d call me your boyfriend.”

Sakusa was looking at him like he’d sprouted another head. “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me. None of that casual shit anymore, it obviously didn’t work for either of us, because I fell for you too, okay? I’ve never been in a serious relationship before, but I want to try it with you.”

Sakusa kept staring at him. Then he asked, “Never?”

Atsumu shook his head. “Not a single person. So I wouldn’t know what I’d be doing, but I hope you’d be patient with me.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet,” Sakusa said, irritated. Then he inched closer to Atsumu. “Really, never? I’d be the first?”

Atsumu blinked at him. Smiled slowly. “You like that, don’t you? You possessive gremlin. If I promise that you’ll be the first and the last, will you come here?”

Sakusa made a show of thinking about it, but Atsumu’s chest was already starting to loosen. He could have this. He’ll fix everything. He’ll make it _so good_.

He opened his arms. Sakusa pursed his lips, but went anyway.

The moment he was in reach, Atsumu squeezed and sighed in relief. “Thank god.” He started pressing kisses on his head, his forehead, on the damn moles that haunted his dreams. “I missed you. I missed you so much. Thank you.”

When he kissed Sakusa’s cheek, his lips came away wet with tears. He lifted a hand and wiped them away. “I’m sorry. I’ll make up for everything. I promise.”

Sakusa said, “You can start by not posting selfies on your accounts anymore. I can’t stand the thought that they have that on their phones.”

Atsumu stared at him in disbelief. Then he started laughing. “You’re unbelievable. An absolute nutcase. I love you.”

Sakusa stilled in his arms, and Atsumu’s smile softened. In a gentle voice, he said, “I love you, Omi-Omi. You don’t have to worry about anyone else. You’ve already caught me.”

For a while, Sakusa tried to hide the fact that he was crying. Atsumu teased, “Wanna say it back?”

He received a furious, albeit wet, glare for that. “I’ll say it when you’ve earned it. Jerk.”

“Fair enough.”

Atsumu decided that he _will_ earn it. Nothing ever got in his way when he wanted something enough. He’d already achieved the career of his dreams. Now he was going to chase after the man he wanted to share it with. For the first time in a long time, he’d found something he was willing to bet his life on.

**Chapter 7**

They weren’t able to leave the building until hours later, when the sky tentatively brightened. It was still raining, but nothing like the thunderstorm last night.

He’d spent those hours transcribing and timecoding the damn lectures from the forum, and then writing article after article about it. He went through his entire cigarette pack trying to keep himself awake to finish the job. He didn’t want to have to handle this the following day. In fact, he was planning on taking a sick leave, and Daichi would surely allow him.

Sakusa had watched him for hours from where he was leaning against the wall beside him, but he eventually dozed off. The rain on their bodies had mostly dried, but they were both damp and freezing, and Atsumu worried that Sakusa would get sick. When his driver returned to tell him he could take them home Atsumu was relieved.

He touched Sakusa’s face gently. “Omi,” he murmured. “Wake up.”

Long lashes flickered as Sakusa started to wake. Then he startled.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Just me. We can go home now.”

Sakusa blinked at him sleepily. “Can I go home with you?”

“Course you can. Let’s go.”

They told the crew members to take the truck and head on back to the headquarters. Then they hopped into Atsumu’s van service to be taken home.

“Are they still going to air your report about the forum?” he asked Sakusa.

“No, they bumped it off the lineup completely. Storm will be the priority the next couple days, probably. I didn’t even write the script for it, or bothered transcribing.”

“Lucky.” Online news weren’t restricted by air time. And since the stories from the forum were evergreen, Atsumu had no excuse not to submit them.

When they arrived at Atsumu’s apartment, he shooed Sakusa to the bathroom. His damn toothbrush was still there. Hell, his entire skincare routine was still there. He could never bring himself to move them.

He changed the sheets, fixed up his room a little, and opened the laptop on his desk. He’d already sent a number of articles from the forum to Breaking, but he still had a couple more to go.

He fixed himself some coffee, and Sakusa some tea. By the time he returned to his room, Sakusa was already curled up in bed. He placed the cup on the bedside table. “In case you want to warm up.”

Then he headed to his desk and sat down on his computer chair, sipping his drink.

He was on his second paragraph when Sakusa murmured, “Tsumu, aren’t you tired?”

He looked over at Sakusa, who was watching him sleepily from the bed. “Exhausted,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to think about this anymore later. I’m almost done.”

“At least take a bath first.”

He shook his head. “I’d feel too relaxed and everything will catch up to me. Go to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Sakusa sighed. In the next moment, he was asleep.

An hour later, he stood up and stretched, job finally, _finally_ done. He had sent a message to Daichi before he forgot. He’d been awake and working for 28 hours, and he wondered if he was a workaholic. But he figured that if he was, then everyone he knew was too, so it didn’t count. They simply had to deliver what was expected of them. The end.

He took a scalding hot bath, letting the shower beat out the tenseness in his muscles. Not for the first time, he wondered if what he was doing was worth it. He was exhausted down to his very _soul_. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, but he was too numb to even feel hunger. He loved his job, but it was slowly killing him. He was slowly killing himself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the sight of Sakusa curled up in his bed and wearing his clothes warmed him in a way that not even the shower managed to do.

He lay down beside him and watched him for hours, until the room got steadily brighter, the sun reappearing to signal a new beginning.

And as he drifted off to sleep, he decided that no, he would never give this up, because now he had a brand new reason to fight. Now he had a reason to be better.

\--

The world was spinning. He drifted in and out of consciousness, struggling to reach the waking world, but only ever staying there for bits of a time.

He heard Sakusa’s concerned voice calling, “Tsumu?” and felt hands that were cold compared to the inferno he was burning in.

At some point he started hearing Suna and Aran nearby. A hand slapped at his cheek, rousing him, and he heard Suna say, “You stupid idiot, look what you’ve done to yourself. I’m gonna shove in a pill, that’s all the warning you’re getting.”

And then there were fingers gripping his jaw, and fingers in his mouth, and water drowning him.

Aran snapped, “Suna! Seriously, are you trying to kill him?”

There was Sakusa’s voice, visibly upset, saying, “Maybe we should take him to the hospital.”

“Nah,” Suna said. “No need. He’s tough, it’s just a fever.”

“But it’s _high_ ,” Sakusa snapped. “People _die_ from fever. What if it’s an infection?”

“It’s not, jeez. Where the hell is Osamu? He knows better than anyone how to deal with this.”

He was conscious enough to feel arms wrap around his chest and a wet face press against his neck. Sakusa. Was he crying? He wanted to tell him to get away from him because he’d get sick, too, but he wanted him there. He didn’t want to be apart from him again. He’d been tortured enough, hadn’t he?

A large familiar hand rested on his forehead. “Daichi wants you to know that you did well, Tsumu,” Aran’s voice said. “We are all grateful for you, even Yaku. Take the rest of the week off, and if you try to show up in the office, we’ll drag you back here by the hair. Get well soon.”

He swallowed and put all his strength into croaking out, “Stop. Acting like. I’m dying. Fuck off.”

Suna cracked up. A hand smacked him on the chest. “You stupid idiot,” Sakusa snapped. “I told you to rest!”

He groaned in protest and tried to open his eyes. The brightness blinded him and stabbed at his brain so he squeezed them shut again.

Sakusa wrapped his arm around him again and nuzzled at his cheek. He really was sweet when he wanted to be. Like a cat. Maybe he should get a cat? “Sorry,” Sakusa muttered.

Atsumu’s lips quirked up. “‘S’okay, baby. Gonna sleep now. ‘Kay?”

“Okay.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

“This is kinda gross,” Suna muttered.

And then he knew no more.

\--

When he went back to work the following week, he was greeted by exaggerated applause from his officemates. He rolled his eyes at them and said, “Yeah, yeah,” as he made his way to his desk. But he grinned genuinely enough.

“He lives!” Suna jeered when he got close. “What part of ‘ _No story is worth dying for_ ’ is not clear to you, dumbass?”

“I told ya to stop acting like I was dying! It was just a fever, jeez.” He dumped his messenger bag on the floor.

Before he could sit down, Daichi approached him, followed by Suga, who must have made his way up from the first floor to talk to him.

Daichi patted him on the back hard. “That was some good work you did last week, Atsumu-kun. You went above and beyond. Thank you.”

Suga whacked him over the head. “You’re no use to us dead,” he said cheerfully. “You should learn to take care of yourself better. But thanks for your hard work!”

“To celebrate you and Sakusa-kun not dying, we’ve ordered pizza. We’re having an office party this afternoon,” Daichi announced, raising his voice. Cheers erupted again. “It’s also to congratulate everyone for a job well done for holding the fort during that cyclone. You all did wonderfully. Make sure you’re all hungry by 3 p.m.!”

Then they retreated. He exchanged blank glances with Suna and Aran, then shrugged and settled down on his desk.

Beside him, Choko was gazing at him with familiar sparkling eyes. Oh god. “Yes, Choko?”

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” he sighed.

Suna wheezed out, “Please don’t.”

\--

He stared at the cake that read, “Congrats, yer not dead.” Then he looked up at his officemates, who were trying not to laugh. He turned to look at Kiyoomi, who was smirking, looking highly amused. Looked at Suga, who was smiling at him innocently.

“I hate y’all,” he decided.

Everyone burst out laughing. He may be admired by many in the industry, but here, he was _always_ the butt of the damn joke.

“We need a picture of you with the cake!” Lev insisted. “We custom ordered that, it was funny.” Oh god, he could just imagine them cackling together while ordering the damn thing online.

“Yachi should take it,” Yaku said. “Not you Lev, you’re shit. Let the pro handle it.”

“It’s just for his Instagram and Twitter,” Lev said exasperatedly.

“I’ll take it,” Yachi interrupted, shoving her way to the front and holding up her phone. “Smile, Atsumu-san! No wait, you gotta hold up the cake. Turn it so we could read — yes, perfect. Sakusa-san, you should also be in the shot, because this is your party, too.”

He felt a familiar presence beside him and relaxed. In a low voice meant only for him, Kiyoomi said, “I thought I said no more posting pictures of your face.”

He turned his head a little to murmur, “But you’re here now, so it’s fine, right?”

“Okay, smile!”

Atsumu tried to smile, but his eye twitched in irritation when a fresh wave of laughter overtook his friends. “I hate you all!” he whined.

“Oh come on!” Yachi snapped. “It’s just one picture!”

“Alright, take it again,” Sakusa told her.

Yachi counted, “One, two —” and when she reached “three” Atsumu felt a familiar pair of lips press against his cheek, and he grinned helplessly. Everyone cheered. Except Yaku, who gagged.

He posted that photo on his social media accounts, and captioned it, “I lived bitch. Cyclones don't stand a chance against us! I love you @sakusakiyoomi, you unbelievable person you. And I guess I love @hqnewsonline too but only cause they gave me cake.”

Yaku claimed he heard the sound of a thousand hearts breaking. Kiyoomi just _laughed_.

\--

On Tuesdays, Kiyoomi’s shift ends two hours after Atsumu’s. He used the gap in between to dash out and buy a bouquet of flowers and some mochi because Kiyoomi secretly had a sweet tooth.

Then he returned to HQ News to wait. He hung around the gazebo, which was stationed in the middle of the complex, where people were always passing by. He texted Kiyoomi, telling him he was waiting for him there.

When Kiyoomi finally strolled out, clutching his bag, his dark eyes roved around until he spotted Atsumu. Then they widened at the sight of the flowers and Atsumu smirked.

Kiyoomi flicked his eyes around self-consciously as he hurried his way over. “What are you doing,” he hissed. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I told you I was going to court you and I meant it.” Atsumu grinned at him, uncaring. He didn’t count the past week they spent living in each other’s pockets, because a lot of that time, Kiyoomi was nursing Atsumu back to health.

“Keep your voice down,” Kiyoomi gritted out, when there were giggles from a group of passers by. One whispered, “Dude, that’s Miya Atsumu, he’s off the market now, did you hear?” And someone answered, “Can’t believe I’d see the day he’d be whipped.”

Kiyoomi glanced at their backs, frowning contemplatively. Then his face cleared. “On second thought, I think I don’t mind this. But let’s go now.”

“Go where?”

“Home?”

“Nope! I’m taking you out to dinner, let’s go.”

\--

The thing is, during that week in between, Atsumu learned something: he was an idiot.

He’d spent a handful of days bed-ridden, mostly relying on Kiyoomi, who refused to leave him alone. Atsumu knew he had a thing against sickness and viruses and germs in general, but he didn’t shy away from the ordeal. He tackled it the way he tacked everything — with dedication and utmost sincerity. Kiyoomi wasn’t the type to do something he didn’t want to do because he needed to do it — rather, he did things properly and with care because he had an overarching goal that he deemed worth it.

And it looked like Atsumu was worth it.

This time, Atsumu willingly let him invade his space, let him do his worst. But his worst turned out to be this: he opened the windows of Atsumu’s heart wide open to let the sun in, dusted every neglected corner of his mind, dragged his soul out of the hole it buried itself in, and laid down new sheets so that he had somewhere to lie on.

It felt brand new, but it was still home.

He never needed to worry about Kiyoomi unbalancing his castle and destroying it. It turned out he was the missing puzzle piece that his very foundation was needing in order to stabilize.

\--

That night, he held a smug Kiyoomi as they cuddled in his bed.

“Happy now?”

“Yes.” Kiyoomi nuzzled at his cheek. It seemed to be quickly becoming his favorite habit. “Now everyone knows that _I_ win. They can keep the pictures, that’s all they’re getting.”

“How do you even know they have those?” Atsumu mused.

“Reporters are gossips, you know that,” Kiyoomi grumbled. “And they always talk, very loudly I might add, before events start. I heard them mention your name once and peeked at their phones over their shoulders.”

Atsumu laughed. “Oh my god. This reminds me of when I was younger and I had an unholy crush on Meian.”

Silence.

“I just idolized him,” he appeased, realizing his mistake. “You have to admit, he has that presence, you kind of just freeze when he’s in the room.”

More silence. He craned his head to look at his boyfriend, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes.

“He’s like an uncle to me now,” he explained further. “And I have a new celebrity crush.” After Kiyoomi’s news report during the typhoon went viral, he was definitely a celebrity now. He was HQ News’ new darling.

Kiyoomi relaxed. “Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, smiling slowly. “First time I ever laid eyes on him my brain short-circuited. But my assholishness took precedence and I made a totally bad impression.”

“Did you now.” Kiyoomi was smiling now too.

“Yeah. And I couldn’t stand him at first, because he was such a stuck-up jerk. But then he very boldly gave me his number and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Tell me more.”

“Well.” He ran his fingers from Sakusa’s shoulder down his arm. “He was very sneaky, you know, very clever. Until now I don’t know if he intended to ensure that I don’t ever stop thinking about him. If he somehow found a way to make sure I see him in my dreams. He kept leaving his shit around until I couldn’t imagine them not being there. Couldn’t imagine him out of my life. I started to need him more than I need cigarettes. He’s my worst addiction.”

“So when you say there’s no better feeling than cigarettes after sex…”

“Not true anymore. Now I want cuddles after sex. Good thing he’s apparently secretly cuddly.”

“And if I say I hope you’d quit smoking?”

Atsumu paused. Shifted to look Kiyoomi in the eye. “Do you want me to?”

Kiyoomi looked away and shrugged. “It’s killing you. I don’t like that.”

“Why’d you let me smoke around you, then?”

“Because I wanted you to associate me with that feeling you were so obsessed with.”

He turned the words over in his head. “You did condition me! I knew it!”

Kiyoomi laughed. “Stop being so dramatic. I just wanted you to enjoy my company. That’s all there is to it.”

Atsumu rolled himself over Kiyoomi. Pushed curly hair off his face. “I don’t need that shit to enjoy your company. I’ll quit. One day, okay? I can’t stop cold turkey. I’ll start waning it off my system first, okay?”

“Okay. That’s all I ask.” Kiyoomi smiled at him and it was like an arrow to the heart. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this.

“I love you,” he reminded.

The smile widened. “I love you, too.”

Atsumu grinned back, victorious. “So I earned it, then? I just needed to give you flowers and take you to dinner?”

“You never really needed to do anything, it was already true long before.”

He really wasn’t sure his heart could take this. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this blessing. “I won’t ever stop trying to deserve you anyway.”

“Really now.”

“I always get things done, you know that.”

“Then I’m counting on you.”

“As you should.”

They sealed the deal with a kiss.

And Atsumu thought there was no better feeling than _this_. Not cigarettes, not even sex.

Just this.

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, Atsumu is me. I am Atsumu. Down to the "I love my job but it's killing meee." And now look at me writing fanfiction when I'm not writing news articles...I must have really lost it...
> 
> I do not hold the title of the celebrity crush though. That goes to some dude in this one network that every reporter is obsessed with...I won't drop any names but know that these people really do exist.
> 
> Btw don't take too personally the extremely biased statements here (entitled fresh grads, woke Twitter). But I ain't gonna lie and say newsrooms love them lmao. That's all, bye!


End file.
